Runcible Spoon

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at The Mondrian


all the sharp boys on the penthouse terrace

with their sockless loafers and cocaine eyes


the would-be models   not dressed

for November and not yet anorexic


and a young Boris wannabe sporting

a tweed jacket and an unforgiveable shirt


takes a call while pissing his higher

class of piss   what ho old boy what ho


Im in a hotel on the river   The Mandarin

or some such   just pointing percy thats all


and it occurs to me that perhaps this squawking

buffoon only needs to know about Mondrian


when it comes to claiming his inheritance tax

I wash my hands and head for the exit